


No Words Necessary

by loves_books



Category: A-Team (2010), A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 06:28:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal has to fight to keep Face with him after a mission goes badly wrong</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Words Necessary

“Easy, kid, easy,” Hannibal soothes, hands rubbing careful circles over Face’s heaving chest as his Lieutenant tries to pull in enough air. “Just breathe, Face, breathe for me.” Forcing the panic out of his voice.

Unable to spare enough oxygen for words, instead terrified blue eyes lock onto Hannibal’s. Whatever drug Face was given seems to rapidly be shutting down his lungs, tanned skin fading to grey, red lips tinging with blue. Face reaches a shaking hand up and Hannibal takes it, wrapping strong fingers around and squeezing tightly.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he breathes into his boys ear, pulling Face a little more upright, settling his head onto his shoulder. “All you have to do is breathe. Help’s on the way, just relax and breathe.”

Where the hell are the medics? He knows they are close, Murdock and BA with them, leading them closer through this maze of buildings. Hannibal has to fight the urge to sweep Face into his arms and carry him towards them – in this dim light he knows there’s too much of a risk that he’ll miss the medics. They are coming, and he tries to comfort his Lieutenant as much as he can until they arrive.

Face’s gasps are becoming weaker now, his chest barely moving beneath Hannibal’s hands. “Come on sweetheart, keep breathing for me, come on…” He keeps up a steady stream of encouragement in his lover’s ear, still rubbing those gentle circles over that muscular chest he loves so much, even as Face’s eyes flicker shut for the briefest moment, quickly snapping back open. “That’s it, kid. Stay with me, keep breathing, stay awake…”

When it happens, Hannibal is almost unprepared, convinced the medics would arrive, convincing himself even as he tried desperately to convince Face. But his lover chokes out a last gasp then his chest falls still beneath Hannibal’s hand.

“No,” the Colonel breathes, stunned. Then, stronger. “No way, baby. You don’t get to leave me. Not like this, not today.” He’s moving on autopilot, shifting Face’s limp body to lie flat on the filthy floor, peeling his hand out of that loose grip. “You will breathe for me.” And he pinches off his lover’s nose, tilting his head back, breathing into his mouth, forcing air into his lungs. Keeping him here.

It’s harder than it should be. He can feel how locked-up Face’s chest is, the muscles all but rigid. No wonder the kid couldn’t breathe.

Shaking himself, putting all emotion aside, the Colonel concentrates on his job, forcing air into the still body before him, pumping hands firmly over that ribcage when the feeble pulse finally stutters to a stop. He doesn’t let himself notice how at peace the Lieutenant looks now, eyes closed loosely, longer-than-regulation hair curling softly around his head. Breathing for this man in front of him, not letting himself see those hands he loves so much, long fingers lax, curled slightly by his side. Keeping a heart beating, not letting himself think about how often he had kissed where his hands now pressed, feeling his lover’s heart race at his touch. Nothing but pure focus on keeping the rhythm of CPR. Keeping this man – this precious, unique, beloved man – here with him.

Later, they tell him it was only a matter of minutes, although it felt like hours, days. Three, maybe four minutes he breathed for Face, minutes he kept his boy alive before the medics finally reached them, Murdock and BA having to physically haul him off the Lieutenant’s limp body to let the experts work. Connecting machines, fixing an oxygen mask and bag over his mouth, forcing air in far easier than Hannibal could.

Forcing a tube down his lover’s throat, pressing paddles to his lover’s chest. That limp body jerking as electricity thudded through him. His other two men trying to turn him away, but forcing himself to watch, eyes locked on his boy’s face. So peaceful. So still.

Shaking himself again, Hannibal snapped back into himself, looking down at his peaceful lover. Face was sleeping again, still with that tube down his throat, still with a machine doing most of the work of breathing for him, but alive and well. Or, if not quite well yet, at least better.

They still don’t know quite what he had been drugged with, only that it had caused a serious and near-fatal allergic reaction, paralysing his lungs, causing muscles to swell and lock. The medics had given him massive doses of adrenaline and so very many other shots, getting his heart going and breathing for him until he was back at the base hospital and stabilised.

Hannibal hadn’t relaxed until Face had blinked open his baby blue eyes. The most beautiful sight he had seen in a long, long time, and he had kept their gazes locked as the doctor talked, as Face tapped out questions and answers in morse code on his wrist.

Now, hours later, Hannibal sat by his Lieutenant’s bedside, watching that firm chest rise and fall steadily. Face would be fine in a day or two, they said, after more tests and breathing treatments. He was fixated on that steady rise and fall, so much so that he startled when a slightly shaky hand brushed his own. 

Instinctively wrapping his fingers around Face’s, Hannibal lifted his gaze to meet clear blue eyes and let a huge smile split his face. A questioning frown rippled over his boy’s brow, and the Colonel reassured him quickly. “It’s fine, kid. You’ll get the tube out in the morning, they say. You’re doing just great.”

The frown faded, and in its place was a steady, measured, burning look. Hannibal knew that look, longed to say out loud how much he loved this man too, but was all too aware of the military doctors and nurses hovering around them in the ICU. He settled for squeezing his lover’s hand a little tighter. They didn’t need words, never had.

Face blinked once, twice, sleepy again already, and Hannibal freed his hand enough to tap out a gentle message on the back of his boy’s hand, mindful of the attached IV line. Three little words. Eight letters. As Face dropped back into sleep, Hannibal knew his lover had understood. No words necessary.


End file.
